


The Interview

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Brass Lightning, Cisco Being Ludicrously Adorable, Gen, Really This Whole Story was for the Hat Joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caitlin Snow arrives at Star Laboratories dressed to the nines, determined to get an interview at the once-prestigious airship design company. But from the minute she walks in the door, it doesn't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more steampunk!Flash. Get on it, people.

Caitlin Snow gathered up her skirts and descended the steps of the taxicab, ignoring the cabbie’s outstretched arm. It clanked unhappily.

“What is the fee, please?” she asked. Normally you didn’t have to ask.

The cabbie clanked again.

“Ma'am,” a gentleman on the sidewalk said. “Ma'am, touch its arm. You’re violating its programming, poor clanker. It’ll stand open all day, waiting to help you out.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to program an automaton who knows that ladies don’t always require help?”

The gentleman looked at her as if she were speaking Greek. “Just touch his arm, ma'am. I need that cab.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and laid her gloved hand in the cabbie’s metal one for half a second. A couple of lights in its chest lit, and it intoned, “You-have-arrived-at-your-destination. The-fee-is-eight-cents.”

She fished a few coins out of her reticule and dropped them into the slot. A couple of clanks and her change rolled out onto its metal palm. “Have-a-nice-day-miss-or-madam,” it said, and the arm folded back into its box as the cab door closed.

The gentleman stepped up and said clearly, “Central City Picture News, please.” The door popped open to admit him. When he climbed in (without aid offered or required), the cab rolled off, its new passenger’s mutterings about “bloody modern women” drifting out the window and back through the smog-clogged air.

Ever since she’d been a child, Caitlin had been told that proper young ladies were seen and not heard. She’d been ignoring it almost that long. With a roll of her eyes, she turned on the sidewalk and gazed up at the building before her.

Star Laboratories.

She shifted the strap over her shoulder and let her hand settle on the wide, flat portfolio that rested against her skirts. Confined to the house by the strictures of mourning, she’d only stayed sane by means of long hours with Ronnie’s books and then at her drafting table - much to her mother’s dismay. Now everything she was, she carried at her side in this portfolio case.

Which was a decent parallel, as this rather disreputable little shop was all that was left of what had once been the most audacious airship design company in Central City.

But then Dr. Harrison Wells had designed the airship _Accelerator_ , the largest to ever take flight. It had crashed on its maiden voyage just over a year ago, a disaster that had killed hundreds, reduced parts of Central City to ashes, and ruined him almost utterly.

She’d heard that he’d switched focus to smaller personal vehicles and assistive devices, and hoped that the lab’s new direction would accept her along for the ride.

It had to accept her along for the ride. Else she feared she would spend the rest of her life standing still.

Bracing herself, Caitlin climbed the steps and opened the door. 

“Heads-up!”

She saw something whirling silver and deadly toward her and ducked with a shriek. There was a solid thunk, a spray of sparks, and her head felt suddenly lighter.

Hands grabbed hers and yanked. “Down!”

She hit the floor, pressing her hands to her ears in anticipation of an explosion.

After a moment, the young man on the floor with her raised his head, peering up at the door frame. “Huh,” he said. “Well. That’s something at least.” He climbed to his feet and leaned close to the silver item, protected from the sparks by the brass-and-smoked-glass goggles that covered his eyes.

He clapped his hands. “Well! I think the mayhem is done for the moment.”

She gaped up at him as he shut the door. He was a man around her age, perhaps a little younger, with shoulder-length black hair and deeply tanned skin. He wore a grease-smeared shirt with the sleeves rolled up - no waistcoat, no tie, and certainly no hat or jacket. She’d never been this close to such a casually dressed man, without acting as his doctor or being on the most intimate of terms.

The man looked down at her. “I’m so sorry about that. Entirely my fault, miss, I assure you. Here.” He helped her up. His hands were warm, with callouses that snagged the fabric of her gloves and grease stains that smudged them. “Are you hurt?”

She patted her hair with trembling fingers. Whatever-it-was had knocked her hat clear off, dragging her carefully braided and pinned hair with it. Her hairstyle now listed drunkenly to one side, a braid falling loose to rest on her shoulder. “I - my hat.”

He pushed his goggles up, revealing eyes as dark as his hair, and looked around. “Ooo.” He picked something up off the floor and held it, grimacing. “Um. I’m afraid it’s done for.”

She took it from him. Her best hat was now covered in grease marks and metal shavings. A portion of the brim had been flattened entirely. The cheerful spray of violets that she’d positioned and repositioned this morning now drooped sadly from the band, half the silk blooms sheared off and scattered about the floor. She bit her lip.

“I can pay for that.”

While normally she would have accepted the offer and given him a sum total of the cost of the hat and all its trimmings, Caitlin found herself saying, “No, no. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Entirely. I haven’t worn it in some time. It’s quite out of style now. This is an excellent excuse to purchase a new one.”

“I’m so sorry. Again. I really wasn’t expecting anyone today, and I wanted to run some tests on that - mmm - device - and, well, it got away from me. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she said, and before his face could completely fall, added, “Not unless I know who it is I’m forgiving.”

His smile bloomed over his face, and he held out a hand. “Cisco Ramon.” Before she could take it, his eyes fell on his own bare forearms. He went pink and pulled his hand back, hastily rolling his sleeves down and buttoning the cuffs. “As I said,” he babbled, hauling the goggles off, “I - I wasn’t expecting anybody, and here I am in a state of undress, and your sensibilities are really taking a beating today, aren’t they?”

“My sensibilities are rather more sturdy than you give them credit for,” she said, trying not to seem as if she regretted losing the sight of his forearms, tanned and corded with fine muscle.

Really, what was the matter with her? She hadn’t noticed a gentleman in any kind of, well, _physical_ sense in over a year. Had the dive to the floor somehow scrambled her brains?

He tossed his goggles toward a nearby bench, at the same time snatching up a discarded waistcoat and shrugging into it. As he bent his head to do up the buttons, his hair slid forward to curtain his face.

He tucked it behind his ears in what seemed an automatic gesture as he looked up at her. “Still. It’s no way to behave in front of a lady. Or to a lady. I’ve never had to apologize so many times in ten minutes. First I knock you down, then I deflower your hat - ”

Caitlin gasped.

He blinked, then seemed to hear his own words, and said faintly, “Oh.” He went beet-red and pressed his hands to his face. After a moment, he peeked out between his fingers. “Can we go back in time to before I needed to make any apologies?”

He hadn’t meant to be lewd. Caitlin knew it. She’d dealt with more than her fair share of innuendo, and she would wager her medical degree that he had meant nothing of the sort.

But he looked so flustered, and more so with every silent second that passed.

She cast around for something that would break the tension, and settled on, “I think that would require me leaving entirely and coming in again.”

He gave a sharp, rather high-pitched laugh at the weak joke. “I - I think it would.”

“Shall we consider all apologies rendered and accepted?” Caitlin said. “In the interest of proceeding.”

He dropped his hands, blowing out a breath, and tucked his hair behind his ears again. His hands really were very nice. “Yes. If I can manage to emulate gentlemanly behavior. Which, I promise you, I’ve accomplished on at least two occasions. Possibly three.” He held out his hand. “Hello. I’m Francisco Ramon, head engineer for Star Labs.”

At the foreign name, she realized he didn’t have a tan - that was the natural color of his skin. He must be that beautifully golden all over. She felt her cheeks heat at the stray thought.

He didn’t seem to notice her distraction, rambling, “By which I mean, only engineer. Only employee, if you want to get technical … Be that as it may. How can I help you, Miss - ?”

“Doctor,” she corrected. “Dr. Caitlin Snow.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “Doctor?”

She felt her teeth gritting behind her smile, but kept it pasted on for whatever reaction Mr. Ramon had to that revelation. It might be blank puzzlement: “But you’re a _lady_.” Or condescending: “well, isn’t that _modern_ of you.”

Or worst yet, the wordless leer, because what manner of woman wanted to become a doctor? Certainly no proper one.

She almost wished she hadn’t said it, because she’d been liking Francisco Ramon very much indeed.

“Dr. Caitlin Snow,” he said slowly. “What letter of the alphabet does Caitlin start with? It’s not K, is it?”

She blinked a few times. “C,” she said. “It starts with C.”

“You’re Dr. C. Snow,” he said. “I thought it stood for Cornelius, or Clarence, or - but it’s Caitlin!” He grinned hugely. “You sent us that design!”

“For the steam-powered wheeled chair, yes,” she said. It had been audacious, sending that particular design, but from everything she’d heard of Dr. Wells, he appreciated audacity. “You saw it?”

“Saw it? I very nearly bronzed it!”

“Y-you liked it?”

“He did indeed,” said a new voice. “And so do I.”

They both spun to see a man in the doorway, sitting in a wheeled chair. He was properly dressed, in a morning coat, waistcoat, and tie that were the epitome of sober, gentlemanly fashion. The creases in his trousers were sharp and precise, and his shoes, resting on the brass footrest of the chair, were shined to a high gloss. He also looked tremendously thin and drawn, skin pale as if he’d been ill for a long time. But his blue eyes were sharp and alive behind his spectacles.

“Dr. Harrison Wells,” he announced himself. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not rising to greet you, Dr. Snow.”

“Naturally,” she said, staring.

He pressed a lever and a bit of steam escaped the back end, pushing a set of gears into motion and propelling him slowly forward. He pulled the lever back and stopped in front of them.

“My chair,” Caitlin said softly.

“It is quite the design, Dr. Snow. Miles above what I was using before.”

Cisco looked down.

“Make no mistake, Mr. Ramon is a fine engineer and inventor, and his chair served me well. But your design revealed an instinctive knowledge of the needs of the crippled man as pertains to mobility and independence. And comfort.”

Caitlin heard the praise, but she was still trying to process the existence of the device outside of her own graph paper. “You built it already?”

“I hope that’s all right,” Cisco said. “I couldn’t resist. I stayed up for two nights running.”

“I did talk him out of the rocket thrusters, you’ll be happy to hear.”

“Oh, yes, of course, those would be most unwise additions,” she said absently, staring at her own thoughts made real.

“But I must beg your pardon. Both your pardons.” He gave Mr. Ramon a small nod. “I saw you arrive from my office window, Dr. Snow, and I deliberately didn’t alert Mr. Ramon that you were coming in. I wanted you to experience Star Labs in its - ” He smiled briefly. “Its usual state.”

Cisco laughed a little. “She got that in spades.”

“Why?” Caitlin asked.

“To get a sense of your reactions, of course. To gauge how well you would work in this environment. Or was I mistaken? Was your delivery of this design - ” He thumped the chair’s arm lightly. “ _Not_ in the nature of a resume?”

“I - it was,” she said. “I intended to - ” Request. Demand. “Apply for a job with you today.”

Cisco yelped. “Here? With me? With us?”

Dr. Wells smiled. “I am glad to hear that, Dr. Snow. Let me assure you, the job is yours for the asking.”

“But.” She swallowed. “Don’t you want to hear my education? My history - ”

“I did some research after I received that design. You obtained your medical degree from Central City University, only the third woman to ever do so. You worked at St. Mary’s Hospital for Women and Children - ”

The only hospital that would hire her. Because that was what women were suited for, wasn’t it? Midwifery and children with runny noses. She had done good work there, but Caitlin had been deeply frustrated all the same, constantly condescended to and overlooked by the other doctors, all male.

Certainly she’d never been allowed to work with the veterans of the Airship Wars, designing and  implementing her ideas for devices that would make their lives easier. Indecent, she was told. Improper. And always the speculative glances or murmurs, about a young lady who actually wanted to examine soldiers.

“About three years ago, you began working with a mechanical engineer, a Mr. Ronald Raymond, on assistive devices, and about eighteen months ago, you left St. Mary’s upon your marriage.”

“You - what?” Cisco blinked. “You’re married?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Dr. Wells tilted his head. “Mr. Ramon, surely you noticed she’s in half-mourning?” He gestured at her purple dress, cut very simply, with far fewer decorations than current fashion dictated. The change from unrelieved black indicated that the first year of Caitlin’s mourning period was over, and she was able to go about in public again.

“I - I just thought that was a very nice color,” Cisco murmured. “On her. What happened?”

She looked away.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything, you - ”

“No, but I will.” She swallowed. “My husband was on the _Accelerator_. When it went down.”

His mouth fell open. “And you came here for a job? Why?”

“I could hate Star Laboratories, and Dr. Wells, and the truth is, for a long time, I did.” She looked at Dr. Wells. “Forgive my bluntness, sir.”

He held up a hand. “No, no, I appreciate the honesty.”

“But if I were to blame anyone for my husband’s death, it would be me. I bought him the ticket to ride on the maiden voyage. I knew how it would thrill him, to be part of history in that way. I was supposed to go with him, but I backed out at the last minute.”

“Why?”

She gave a watery laugh. “I’m afraid of heights.”

Cisco’s hand closed around hers for a minute and squeezed. It wouldn’t register until much later what a shocking intimacy it was, considering they’d only just been introduced, or how natural it felt to squeeze back before letting go.

She gave him a shaky smile and straightened her shoulders. “It does no good to live in the past, or to blame anyone for a freak accident, or the whims of chance. Star Laboratories is presently producing designs and devices that serve mankind in a very real way. I want to be part of that.”

Dr. Wells smiled. “Dr. Snow, a few minutes ago I told you that a job here was yours for the asking. Am I to conclude that you will be joining us?”

“Yes.”

Cisco gave a whoop that made her jump. “And tell me those are more of your designs,” he said, pointing at the portfolio still lying on the floor, where she’d dropped it when she’d come in.

She crouched to pick it up. “That’s precisely what they are. Do you have a large amount of flat table to spread them out?”

“For those? Give me five minutes and we will.” He bounded off and started tossing things from a workbench into a handy metal box, which clanged as gears and wrenches flew into it.

Dr. Wells laughed.

Caitlin stood holding her portfolio and feeling, at long last, as if she were moving again.

FINIS


End file.
